Harry and the Locket primo
by dreaminghour
Summary: They're on the run during Deathly Hallows. Ron's left Harry and Hermione, and they're coping, although Harry isn't voicing everything he feels.


Pursing his lips, scrunching them forward in a kiss, he made a raspberry at the sunset. No worries about being heard, no one was listening. Hermione, if she could care about the things Harry did to pass time while keeping a watch, was engrossed in one tome or another. Or just the one, the fairy tales. He was sure she had finished it already, but he supposed she thought it was useful.

Again, his tongue made a rude noise, and he fell onto his back to examine the watercolors of the seascape. Gentle blues with rusty specks, abruptly turning into a deep purple sky. He covered his eyes, and suddenly felt much less small. Stars were covered in lighter blue clouds, wispy and running all over the place.

Harry whipped around when there was a light step behind him, he knew it was Hermione coming out for a moment, for one reason or another, but still his breath faltered a moment in hope.

"Hey," She smiled, and sat down next to him. Head on his shoulder, she didn't engage with the red sun passing down the horizon like he did. She dropped her eyes to the closer view, and when he was sure she had fallen asleep she looked up and took a deep breath before speaking.

"What do you think he's doing?"

"Who?" Harry knew whom she meant, but didn't really want to visit anything uncomfortable at the moment. He hoped she'd just leave it, keep it rhetorical, but he wasn't really that optimistic anymore anyway.

"Ron." She sighed.

She missed him, a lot. Harry had known their feelings long before he had even dared to notice the obvious signs. He snickered, covering it quickly, "Probably enjoying an extended stay with Auntie Muriel."

Mouth agape for only a moment, she caught the joke, and laughed a little too much. Her worry was infective. As her giggles died away, Harry actually felt the pang he had been hoping to avoid. He couldn't help talking about it now.

"Why did he abandon me?" Whispered to himself mostly, Hermione was just a bystander. She knew this pity party, and all she could do to comfort him was wrap her arms around him, and hang her hands lightly on the stooped shoulders.

"He didn't. You know that. Neither did anyone else." She snuggled closer to him, but she could tell he didn't really feel her. "They had no choice." Harry turned away, and she tried to stroke his brow.

"Doesn't he know..." Harry started but lost focus.

"He loves us just as much as we love him. He needs this right now. You know best of all what a commitment this is." She gave him a little shake to hide her flushed expression. Talking about Ron was the last thing she needed either, if purely out of embarrassment for her feelings.

Harry wasn't so much embarrassed as much as numb. He'd allowed the river to run away from him, and he didn't blush about any of it anymore. Figured he shouldn't waste time on it, and that was best for them all. They would agree, Ron and Hermione, if they knew. Once out there though, that kind of thing, doesn't just clear with a light breeze, so he didn't actually open it for discussion. Besides, love fades. Or didn't Shakespeare also say it could be transferred? Hermione knew Shakespeare, maybe he would ask. And then he forced his eyes shut, shutting away the temptation to talk about his _feelings_.

* * *

><p>Hermione went back inside, saying she would try to sleep and trade with him soon. Harry forcibly returned to thoughts of magical stones, invincible wands, and enchanted cloaks. Like a meditation he cycled through them, wheeling his eyes through the galaxy laid out before him in the sky. Snatches of Astronomy came back to him, moon of Jupiter, comet in that direction, slightly to the north, wasn't that just some distant star from another system? He meandered around invisible stars and further distant planets. Moons beyond them, and... he'd very much to be big enough to scoop them up. They didn't look that large from there. He actually began to grow, and imagined swallowing them with only a few spoons. Hands back covering his eyes, he wanted to be alone, and yet, he just wanted to be someone else. To get another chance, another run at it, maybe this time understand friendship a little better. Know when it was brotherhood and when it was... something else.<p>

With a groan he swung himself upright, hands still over his eyes, and rubbed any unwelcome sights out of his eyes. Back to the starlight sea. Eyes turning across the silent waves, he imagined shadowy brothers treating to gifts given by death. Ugh, whatever. He stood and paced, not able to save himself from a gloomy train of thought. He knew it was all indifferent now. Ron and the universe, but sometimes it felt as though if he lingered too long, he's lose all self-control, his all powerful grip on what was _really_ important and just slip into some sort of a fruitless depression. He had his friends, and god, now he had Ginny.

Heart fluttering at the memory when Ron had admitted, without realizing, that Hermione was someone special. That one summer at the house, Ginny had come down the stairs, escaping room arrest for a new box of tissues, she'd laughed and teased them both, Harry knew now she'd been flirting with him. Ron had ducked out for some reason, and with her nose congested, her sincere pleasure at seeing him flushing her even more and daring her spirits on, she'd been like an airy version of his best friend. Bad jokes, and a cracking boyish voice. Shorter though, softer, but her delicate hands like his. When she'd pursued the relationship, he never objected again.

Fingertips rumpling his long hair, Hermione stooped over him, artificially chipper. He dared not suggest she'd been crying. Harry smiled slightly, and allowed her to give him a hand up.

"Ooh, it's cold." She said, hugging him a moment and stealing his coat for on top of hers. "Also, you need another haircut." She rumpled his hair again. Harry pretended to be annoyed, making Hermione's eyes twinkle.

He trundled inside, colder, and went to poke the fire, but found it perfect. Hermione had just tended to it herself. He took the chair in front of it and sat at the desk beside. Under the tome of fairy tales, and on top some tiny book of runes, possibly history, was a recent picture of them. Ron in the middle, arms draped stupidly over their shorter frames. All of them ridiculously happy, mockingly so. The greatest thing, love—but he hated it's limits for him. Harry jerked the picture away from himself, scared to watch it dance daringly close and then skid past the fire. He went to retrieve it, the book of runes still in his hands. Under a bed he crawled, and next to it was the locket. He picked it up, daring himself to confront his thoughts and just put it on. But he lingered, everything was so_ fine_ at the moment. So _numb_ and focused on what was important. He was happy, he was convinced of this. As much as he could be, as the world neared cosmic confrontations.

Oh, the locket would make a mess of him tonight. He knew it as he opened the chain to enter it's weight, and felt tears tickle. "No," he said, aloud, and for once, his mind acquiesced and backed away. "You're not going to devastate me. Not now." He whispered. But there was a sweet taste in his mouth, bitterness in his throat, and he felt his abdomen tremble a little. He guessed what he wanted, and allowed his clothes to drop away easily, crawling into the dark pit of the bed. He could only imagine what dreams would rake him with guilt in the morning.


End file.
